


Knowledge's Rude Awakening

by PuhSchell



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, Eldritch, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Gods, Mad Oracle, Magic, Male Protagonist, Manipulation, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Slight Steampunk, Undead, Unreliable Narrator, clairvoyance induced madness - Freeform, picking fights with all the gods because they won't leave you alone, protagonist becomes a deity against his will - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21620071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuhSchell/pseuds/PuhSchell
Summary: Somebody had killed Straxus Vorn. Straxus didn’t need to be a seer to know why somebody would have wanted him dead; there was a myriad of possible reasons (even though the actual event turned out to be somewhat disappointing). What he didn’t know was why he ended up only kind of dead, stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of kobolds.Something was going on here, and Straxus wasn’t having any of it. He had never wanted to be a seer. He had never wanted any power. He certainly hadn't wanted to become a god and quite frankly, he refused to do this.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first completely original work in English. If there are "s"s and "u"s in places where you wouldn't expect them, it's probably due to the fact that I was taught British English in school way back when :D . The story has a comparatively slow start but I hope somebody will like it anyway.

_"Yesterday, upon the stair,_

_I met a man who wasn't there!_

_He wasn't there again today,_

_Oh how I wish he'd go away!"_

_When I came home last night at three,_

_The man was waiting there for me_

_But when I looked around the hall,_

_I couldn't see him there at all!_

_Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!_

_Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door..._

_Last night I saw upon the stair,_

_A little man who wasn't there,_

_He wasn't there again today_

_Oh, how I wish he'd go away…_

_“Antigonish” by William Hughes Mearns_

# I

Straxus didn’t actually remember most of his death.

He didn’t even really remember the last few hours before that or getting abducted.

He had a vague recollection of feeling a sharp pain on the back of his head while heading home from the academy. Of waking up, for a moment, with the biggest of all headaches, just to see a blurry form standing half over him. Some words had been exchanged, though not with him, as far as he knew. Or at least he hoped so, otherwise he didn’t even remember his own last words. On the other hand, if what he hoped was true, his last words had actually been “Keep the change”, back when he had bought what were supposed to be his groceries for the coming week. What an epitaph that would make.

Then he recalled nothing before he woke up again on a stone-topped table in what looked to be a rearranged apartment room.

He had died on that stone table turned self-made altar in a cramped living room somewhere in Fortis Secunda. Just in time to see an armoured enforcer break down the wooden door with a charged fist strike, as well. He remembered the enforcer’s signature winged helmet and engraved breastplate a lot better than what actually killed him. A stab with a knife, perhaps? That seemed to be about right in those circumstances.

Although considering his killer’s choice of location, it had probably been a kitchen knife.

What Straxus had not expected was to wake up again.

He knew, even while he slowly opened his eyes, that he was dead. He knew it, down to his bones.

_Straxus Vorn of Fortis Secunda was dead._

Of course, simply _knowing_ something wasn’t anything new for Straxus. He’d had his _knowing_ all his life and it seemed he would have it for his death as well.

Being dead, however, was decidedly new and very worrying.

He was cold, a bit hungry and sore all over. If this was the afterlife in one of the nine realms above, he was severely disappointed. If this was what waking up in one of the five realms below was like, he was entirely underwhelmed. Stuck between these two possibilities, Straxus settled for not feeling anything at all. Feelings were tiresome anyway.

Groaning, he pushed himself up. It took a few minutes of rubbing his eyes and blinking before he could take in his surroundings.

He seemed to be in a cave. Someone had taken great care to smooth the walls and decorate the whole room with small crystals and polished little gemstones. Only a small path leading from the entrance directly to the crude altar he had awoken on was left clear. It looked almost artistic and quite colourful.

Also kind of pathetic, but Straxus probably shouldn’t critique the interior design of whatever deity’s realm he had ended up in.

Standing up took three tries, and left him with a woozy feeling he didn’t appreciate. He was still wearing the clothes he had died in, complete with a small slit right above his heart. Just the right size for a knife’s blade. His overcoat was missing, as were his boots. A cold shiver raced up his feet from where they touched the bare stone floor. He felt deeply uncomfortable. Not so much because of the cold, more because standing in a cave without shoes simply felt wrong.

Strange how he could still feel cold, even in death. Then again, they did say cold was what death’s embrace was like. He should consider himself hugged, he guessed.

The cave was lit by a warm glow coming from the entrance. Straxus walked cautiously towards it, following the gemstones’ sparkling with his eyes. They were arranged in such a way that anybody walking in this direction could experience their full range of colour. Starting at their darkest hue, changing several times and finally ending in their brightest shade just in front of the exit. It reminded Straxus of colourful stars scattered among the stone floor.

The bright light outside blinded him for a few seconds. He could hear birds chirping somewhere in the background, the lull of several voices and the clanging of pots or dishes. Something was roasting on a fire. A spicy, heady aroma tickled his nose.

Then his eyes adjusted and he realised he was standing on a narrow ledge atop a small encampment of crooked, thrown together huts. A large fire dominated the middle with a just as large pot on top of it, held precariously by a daring construction featuring wooden poles and rope. Strips of some kind of meat stuck on sticks roasted along the edges.

The encampment was busy: Little children playing within the centre, tended by older siblings or parents who were busily scrubbing dishes or clothes at the same time. Construction of a small wooden palisade was well underway on the outer perimeter, a good few paces further out than the ring of huts. The whole village-to-be was nestled against a mountainside, with a narrow path leading past a single hut built directly against the mountain rock and up to the cave Straxus had woken up in.

It was an interesting sight. There was a certain kind of determined feeling in the air. The adults were driven, sometimes grim looking with scars and signs of a hard life. And yet the whole place also hummed with life and cheer.

Also, every one of its inhabitants seemed to be a kobold. Scaly, industrious, almost dragon-like little kobolds. Kobolds in simple plain shirts and loincloths, kobolds wearing little dresses or robes, kobolds carrying small buckets, dishes and sacks.

Straxus jumped right back into the cave before he had even consciously thought about doing so. Which was very silly because the cave only had one exit and was obviously an important part of the… kobold village.

But it allowed him to calm down and gather his bearings.

Seeing all those little sentient lizards had scared years off of his life. Even if the tallest among them reached maybe his hip, their sheer number gave them an advantage over him. Kobolds were not known for being friendly. If they saw him, it was very likely they would attack him - especially since he just appeared inside their village uninvited.

Straxus was a history student and absolutely incapable of any kind of combat. He hadn’t even managed to become slightly adequate at the archery lessons his father had forced on him and his brothers. The most damage he had ever done had happened when his bow’s string had snapped: His hand had moved back in surprise and knocked the feathered end of the arrow he had been holding right between his own eyes. His brothers had laughed all the way back to the estate.

The kobolds didn’t even need numbers on their side. One of them could probably kill him alone with a meat stick.

It was at this point that his knowing reminded him quite forcefully that _he was not alive_ right now and _killing him would be quite impossible_. Straxus’ hand reached for the slit in his shirt. A single finger poked through the torn fabric and scratched his cold skin underneath. It was smooth and tingled slightly. He got the impression of something sharp and ice cold pushing through it and towards something in his chest.

Right. Killed by an unknown maniac in Fortis Secunda. Those kobolds probably wouldn’t be able to do anything.

Why did he wake up in a kobold village?!

His first rational assumption was that his soul had gone off course. His mother had despaired often enough over his habit of wandering off in wrong directions at the worst possible times; it wasn’t unlikely to assume that even his unconscious soul could end up taking a wrong turn and land up in… the kobold afterlife, perhaps. The lizardlings had to go somewhere too, right? They could speak, so Straxus presumed they had something somewhat soul-like.

Then again, his uncle could speak as well so maybe he shouldn’t assume sapience was an indication for souls.

With a deep sigh, Straxus shuffled back into the sunlight. He couldn’t stay in that cave forever, that would be far too boring and the altar was much too uncomfortable to sleep on. Maybe if he tried to be as unthreatening as he could, one of these lizardlings would go and get the attention of whatever being presided over this realm and he could be on his way to wherever he was meant to go.

Nobody reacted to him standing at the very edge of the ledge, looking down towards the village centre. So after a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he slowly walked down the narrow path towards the little hut there. He took care not be too quiet; he didn’t want to startle any lizardlings into attacking him, after all.

As he neared the hut, two voices arguing with each other became clearer and clearer. What surprised Straxus was that he could understand them. To his knowledge, kobolds usually didn’t speak Trade, much less Low or High Althun. And yet he could understand these kobolds as if they were speaking clearly in his own language.

Straxus stopped in his tracks. He turned his attention inward, to the place in his mind where he kept his knowing locked away. Had his death… knocked something loose? Instantly, his knowing reacted to being prodded:  _ His death had not taken any skills from him, merely heightened some. Physical restraints no longer applied. The kobolds were using their own language, as he could hear if he focused on the words without listening to their meaning. They were speaking about something important, the priest-  _

Straxus wrangled his knowing back under control. That was all he needed right now. Maybe souls simply no longer used languages as he understood them. At least this would make communicating easier.

Arriving in front of the hut undisturbed, Straxus stopped just before the slightly lopsided wooden door. The hut was big enough that he would just about fit, but just barging in would be impolite, wouldn’t it? And likely to startle the two arguing inside it.

“- but it’s something we need right now! You think I don’t- I don’t know that it’s not the same?! I know! But what else am I meant to do?! What’s the right thing to do in this situation?!”

“I’m the wrong person to ask that question, Wordsmith. I don’t even  _ care  _ about what the right thing is. I care about making sure we’re safe and well fed. Both of which gets easier if the others feel comfortable, which gets easier if we can actually hold a ceremony-”

“But I don’t know how! The old rituals won’t work! It’s not- you can’t just take any old ritual, it’s not- It has to fit! Otherwise they won’t respond!”

“So find out what the correct ritual  _ is _ ! You’re our priest, this is what you’re _ meant to do _ ! Just- just ask!”

“Ask she says - what do you think I’ve been doing?! It’s not as easy as simply walking up and going ‘Hi, what’s your name?’ There’s- First you have to get their attention, which is hard if you  _ don’t know who you are meant to be talking to _ !”

“ _ Figure it out _ . Everybody knows by now that the altar resonates, which means if we don’t hold a ceremony soon, they will start asking why not. Sacrifice some chickens, some of our- realms below, all of our leftover treasury, if that’s what’s needed! Paint yourself with purple cabbage juice and dance naked on top of it! Just get us a sign that we don’t have to do this alone!”

Straxus had raised his hand to knock and then stopped. That sounded sufficiently ominous and slightly alarming. Anything involving the altar he had woken up on had to be part of the reason why he was here. The kobolds were already researching whatever had happened, so maybe they could help each other. So long as he could communicate with them, he had a chance. Calming his nerves as best as he could, Straxus raised his hand again.

Only for the door to be opened violently. Striding out came one of the largest lizardlings he had seen so far, which meant its head went above Straxus’ hip. It wore form-fitting leather armour and breeches and had two short swords strapped to its sides. Several scars crisscrossed its face which was further distorted by an angry scowl. From up close, its dark green scales looked smooth and almost pretty.

Straxus had frozen when the door was thrown open and simply kept standing there, hand raised for a knock that never came. The angry kobold came stomping out - and stomped right through him, never reacting to his presence at all. Its thumping footsteps disappeared down the path towards the main part of the village. It never knew that it left behind a shaking and distressed part human, part elven man.

This was why no kobold had reacted to him standing on the ledge.

They quite literally couldn’t see him.

And why should they? He was dead after all. He had known that from the moment he had woken up on the altar. He had only been wrong about thinking that this was some afterlife. It wasn’t. Why would he turn up in kobold afterlife anyway? No. He wasn’t in any kind of divine realm at all.

He was a ghost.

Straxus shivered. Suddenly the constant chill he felt took on a new meaning. The undead were supposed to be surrounded by an unnatural cold. And yet… _ he didn’t feel undead _ . Just not alive. Then again, by definition somebody who was not alive and yet walking around was undead. So maybe he did feel undead but didn’t know that he did. How should he know anyway, he had never been undead before!

Just to test his theory, he pushed his hand through the wall of the hut. It passed right through without any problems. He kept it like that, just for a moment, staring at the place where his arm met the wood before he took a step and walked into the hut. For a split second he could see the inside of the wooden wall and felt a bit dizzy, but it passed quickly. Then he was standing in a small one-room hut with a little sleeping alcove carved directly out of the mountainside it was built against.

A kobold who looked as miserable as Straxus felt was sitting on a worn little cushion. His little shoulders were drooping and the tip of his tail twitched listlessly now and then. He was younger than the angry lizardling had been, his red scales almost shiny, and dressed in a loose brown robe. His face was unblemished, but the look in his eyes was desperate. With a small noise that almost resembled a sob, the kobold raised his hands and buried his face in them. Small twitches shook his little frame.

“Right.”, Straxus said to nobody in particular. “You do that. I’ll just go look for the nearest road then.” And turning on his feet, he walked right back out of the hut, straight through the wall.

If he was a ghost, he didn’t have to worry about things like being seen by the kobolds. He could just march down the mountain, find some sign of decent civilization and make his way to Fortis Secunda. Find out what had actually happened to him.

And not deal with crying kobolds.

Maybe that was why he was still in the world of the living. Unfinished business was one of the most common reasons for a ghost to exist if he remembered correctly. You couldn’t exactly be more unfinished than ‘what just happened’, right? At least he assumed so. Maybe he could even visit the family estate, find out how his brothers were coping. Make sure the students he’d been tutoring were alright. Visit Professor Honestas just to see whether the old man found somebody else to help out after lectures.

Straxus didn’t think about how or why he was a ghost. Doing that wouldn’t help him and he had promised himself years ago to never dwell on anything he couldn’t change. He just made his way through the village and randomly picked a direction.

Thinking about his death was silly, anyways. He remembered enough to know that he had died. Spending more time thinking about it was useless. He couldn’t exactly walk up to whoever did it and demand they take it back.

He didn’t want to think about anything, right now, anyways. Get home first, start thinking then.

He walked all day. The chill stayed with him, even when the sun was at its highest point in the sky. The slight hunger he was feeling never grew or abated. He didn’t grow tired. His muscles never protested the steady march he forced them to do. Even the soreness he had felt when he woke up slowly went away until he was just numb and cold. If nothing else, being dead had at least done wonders for his endurance.

Day turned into late evening and yet he walked on. He ignored the animals and most of the scenery he passed. In the late afternoon he had spied a road in the distance, curving around the base of the mountain range. Getting on it and finding some kind of settlement was his goal. Unfortunately, around the time when the sun’s rays had completely set, tiredness started creeping up on him finally. Apparently, even the no longer living could feel exhaustion. It wasn’t the exhaustion of muscles becoming sore and overstrained, though. It was more a creeping sense of weakness and  _ missing energy what was he doing this would deplete _ -

And then the ground rushed up to meet him.

  
  
  


He woke up slightly cold, a little bit hungry and sore all over. The first sunlight of the day was just becoming visible across the horizon and hitting the gemstones just in front of the cave exit. Straxus stared at the little crystals sparkling right next to the stone altar he was once again lying on and cursed loudly and profusely. Then he pressed a hand over his eyes and took a few deep breaths while his mind was racing.

_ Of course he couldn’t just walk away,  _ what had he been thinking? Everything he knew about the undead said they appeared for some reason and ghosts especially were bound to certain places or items. It made sense that he would be bound to where he woke up after dying. He just didn’t understand why it would be a kobold village on some random mountain - it would have made sense if he’d woken up in the living room on top of that improvised…  _ stone altar, only recently sanctified, ready- _

This had to be connected to whatever the  _ amateur sorcerer  _ or ritualist who had abducted him had wanted to do. That was the only rational explanation. Magic was fiddly. The enforcer crashing through the door could have disturbed them and caused something to go wrong. Or maybe the improvised equipment was at fault. Whichever it was, it had to have been that.

Straxus heaved himself off the altar and walked morosely towards the exit. The lizardlings were just waking up and starting their day. And he was stuck watching them without even a book to read. Being a ghost wouldn’t have been so bad if he would have just been able to spend all his time split between the academy’s library and his brothers. He could have dealt with that.

But no. Some random idiot just had to snatch him and think going for some freaky ritual _involving the sacrifice of a sentient_ _being_ on top of their living room table was the way to go. They probably hadn’t even bothered to do proper research. Two-thirds of his fellow students didn’t even bother with proper research and they were supposed to be some of the Republic’s finest. They got away with it most of the time, too. Maybe his killer was even the Republic’s finest amateur ritualist and nobody knew how stupid they actually went about things because nobody could talk to all the ghosts.

Hells, they had probably even escaped the enforcers.

Worked up and angry, Straxus turned around and marched back into the cave. He couldn’t even go and haunt his killer, because his killer’s stupidity had stuck him haunting a village of tiny, two-legged wannabe dragons with no wings.

He sat on the altar and brooded until the sunlight reached into the cave and touched the little bowl someone had placed in front of it. By then his anger had calmed. Being angry was exhausting. He had never quite liked it. As far as he was concerned, righteous anger just led to righteous headaches. So he just sat and stared at nothing while he contemplated what to do.

Footsteps caught his attention, startling him out of his thoughts. The little robe wearing, red scaled kobold walked into the cave, carrying a small chicken and a knife with a carved handle.

Right. There had been talk of sacrificing chickens yesterday. Because fowl blood was just what eldritch magic and altars of dubious origin needed. Even though it really didn’t fit the sparkly gem decor.

The chicken didn’t seem to appreciate being manhandled towards the bowl, but the kobold gamely held it down anyway. His movements looked practiced, as if he had experience holding small domesticated birds in place with one hand while he chanted and waved a pretty knife around with the other. No experience could save him from looking comical, however.

“Oh great one, I, Wordsmith of the Shadowseeker tribe beseech thee to grant me your ear.”

Oh wonderful. Straxus buried his face in his hands again. He wasn’t just stuck to a magical altar, he was stuck to a divine magical altar. Instead of having to listen to a priest of the Nine Above pontificate once every ten-day, now he would have to listen to a sentient lizard pontificate every day. Maybe this was one of the hells after all.

“I humbly ask thee to look favourably upon our tribe in our time of need. Please accept this offering as a sign of our devotion and promise.”

At least he was to the point. Directly after he finished speaking, he stopped waving the knife about - very silly, that - and cut the chicken. Its blood dripped into the little bowl while loud squawking echoed through the cave.

Almost instantly, a warm feeling washed all over Straxus. His body tingled, not unpleasantly. The cold went away for a moment and he even stopped feeling slightly hungry.

And then he could taste something coppery and warm inside his mouth, almost as if a thick liquid was being poured -

No.

_ Warmth because of an influx of energy. He very much needed it, his reserves- _

Nine Above and Five Below, no.

_ The consequences of this could be dangerous. _

Straxus gagged and jumped up from the altar. His foot kicked against the bloody bowl, a futile but instinctive movement.

The bowl arched into the air, splattering bloody droplets all across the sparkling gemstones and crystals and landing on the ground with a clatter.

Straxus stopped and stared. His mouth still tasted disgusting.  _ The energy flow had stopped. It had not taken hold. _

The kobold stopped and stared. His eyes had widened to almost comical size.

The chicken took its chance and escaped the kobold’s slackened grip, hobbling away in its wounded state as fast as it could.

A heavy silence descended. The kobold broke it first by clearing his throat. “I humbly apologise, great one, if the offering was not to your taste. Please, give your priest a sign so he may know what to offer you.”

No. Straxus was decidedly not doing this.


	2. II

#  II

When nothing further had happened, the little red kobold had gone running out of the cave as if his robe had been lit on fire. Straxus had sat back down on the altar and resolutely not done anything. This was, quite frankly, nothing he wanted to get tangled up in and not his problem. Whatever deity actually claimed these lizardlings would surely not be happy if some unfortunate ghost started subverting them. Plus, parading as a divine being sounded suspiciously like a lot of boring, tiring work and if he had wanted any of that he would have done something useful instead of studying history.

So he stayed sitting on the little stone top with his face in his hands, going over anything he remembered reading about magic, rituals and ghosts. There had to be something that could be done to free him from this cave. Of course, even if he did remember something, doing it would be difficult.

His planning was disturbed by the arrival of the red kobold. He was dragging the taller, grumpy one after him. It looked about as happy as Straxus felt.

“See!” The still turned over bowl was triumphantly pointed at. “They answered!”

The grumpy green one looked at the bowl and then pointedly stared at the excited red one. “I see a dirty bowl. What exactly is it supposed to tell me?”

“It was one of the clearest communications I have ever seen or heard about!” That made Straxus pause. Really? A kicked bowl was one of the clearest signs this kobold had ever gotten? “A negative reaction to a sacrifice is usually just nothing - you just don’t get anything. Most higher beings just don’t pay attention if we don’t placate them the right way. This one actually decided to show us clearly that the offering was the wrong one!”

Well, yes. Blood tasted absolutely disgusting and Straxus had no intention of ever doing that again. If they wanted to give him poultry, they would have to cook it first. Also, not a higher being. Just a disgruntled ghost.

“So we have its attention already.” The green kobold nodded thoughtfully. “That could be very good or very bad. You said you were sure it’s not our old Lady, right?”

“Yes, yes.” The smaller one waved his hand about. “The holy marking we recovered from Springdale wouldn’t attach once the altar was attuned and stopped emitting- well, to keep it simple, it doesn’t work now. Whichever god graces us with their presence, it’s not our Lady or any of those allied to the Great Five.”

This was starting to sound worse and worse. Not only had Straxus managed to possess an altar, but he had also managed to steal said altar from one of the Five Below.

The grumpy kobold flicked its tail once and shrugged. “Alright. So it’s most likely a minor god, either seeing us as an opportunity or noticing us by random chance. Can’t say I care much. We need any help we can get, especially divine. You’re our last priest, healer or herbalist, Wordsmith. We need you as strong and safe as you can be.”

“I know, Chief.”, the red one answered with a slight hiss at the end. His mouth turned into a frown. “This is going to be slow. This- it doesn’t usually happen like this. There’s a reason why you have to consecrate an altar exactly the right way before you get a divine answer. It’s because you start by calling out and the god answers by suffusing- well. This isn’t normal.” Red-scaled shoulders sagged a bit. The little kobold kept muttering something under his breath as he scratched his head.

“So long as this god isn’t hostile towards us, I don’t care.” The older kobold sighed and started tapping against its swords with one of its clawed fingers. “So we need to find something they do like. Any ideas, priest?”

“Well, not chicken obviously. I can’t say whether the problem was the type of animal or something else… though generally speaking the Great Five and their minor divine servants do prefer live sacrifices.”

As far as Straxus was concerned, the Great Five could go sacrifice themselves. That blood business was disgusting and he was having no part of it. So long as he was tied to this altar, all sacrifices would have to be cooked and seasoned.

“We don’t have any other livestock, not anymore.” The green kobold hummed. “I can gather a hunting party, send them out to look for more challenging prey. Farseeker can lead them.”

While Straxus did like a good piece of venison, he preferred it well done. And blood-free. 

“Maybe… you could tell them to look for something earth-bound? We have to keep symbolism in mind. If a bird, even a flightless one, is rejected, maybe it is a more earthen deity. Try… some badgers? Moles or maybe a mountain beaver if the hunters get lucky.” The shaman’s tail twitched and flicked across the cave floor. He gathered the bowl and inspected its dried blood crust. “Maybe a hare as well, for variety.”

“Please don’t.”, Straxus implored nobody in particular. “Really, really don’t.”

The chief kobold, however, nodded. “Farseeker spends so much time scouting our surroundings, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew a good place to get some bigger game. We might even get a buck if we tell them it’s for the shrine.”

“No bucks! Just- stick to the gems, they at least look nice! Or some berries, if it has to be food.” Straxus threw his hands up and stalked around the altar once. Unfortunately, nobody noticed his circle of desperation.

The shaman was getting more and more excited. “This is such a promising sign! I should talk to Farseeker myself, ask him to do his best - he’s been a bit standoffish the last months and a bit more silent than usual.”

“He’s probably still feeling guilty because he wasn’t there when Springdale was attacked.” The chief gave a tired sigh. ”One archer more wouldn’t have made any difference, but I don’t think he’ll ever get over that.”

And now both kobolds were frowning and looking worried. Neither of them could see the increasingly anxious ghost standing right next to them. “I’m sure this kobold’s mental scars are very deep and heartbreaking, but they don’t interest me at all, so can we please revisit the live sacrifice plan? I really don’t want to find out what deer blood tastes like. Oh for-” The green kobold gave a final nod and marched out of the cave. Straxus sighed dejectedly and settled back down on the altar.

The shaman left as well, but quickly returned with a small bucket full of water. The dirty bowl was cleaned religiously. Once that was done, the red kobold turned his attention to the gems and made sure to clean those as well. Any specks of dust were vigorously cleaned and all sparkling little stones were put back in their precise position.

The lizardling settled into an almost meditative rhythm. Dunk cloth in water, polish stone, set stone back into position, repeat. He seemed happy - far too happy for somebody who was cleaning stones. “You know, we could do each other a favour and just settle for more sparkly things.”, Straxus offered. The shaman, of course, didn’t give any indication that he had heard. The ghost sighed.

There had to be something he could do. Pulling his legs up on the stone and settling into a comfortable position, Straxus calmed himself. He had to be rational about this.

So far, nobody had reacted to him or in any way acknowledged him. He had passed right through the hut’s door. But he had kicked the bowl. Something was different there. He didn’t need to worry about anything he himself couldn’t test, so things like the shaman’s chanting were unimportant for the moment. So, either the bowl was different, or the location was at fault, or something about him at the moment of kicking the bowl was different.

Theory 1: The bowl was special. This was easily disproved when Straxus bent down and tried to pick up the bowl without luck. His hands and feet once again moved through it.

Theory 2: Was already in doubt due to failure of his first experiment, but he tried to kick a gem around just to be sure. Again the rock proved unimpressed by his ghostly endeavours. This only left…

Theory 3: He himself had been different. He could only see two things that would count here. His emotional state and the fact that he could taste the blood. Both of those things were hard to test right now. He was simply not a person that could work themselves into just any kind of emotional state they wanted. Now that he was calm again, he couldn’t muster the same disgust and panic he had felt earlier. How could anybody panic on command, anyway?

So the only thing he could do… was hope something successfully scared his ghostly pants off of him before the kobolds went and sacrificed a deer. Wonderful.

Meanwhile, the now downright cheerful kobold had finished dusting the cave and was reverently staring at the altar. “I hope you will be happy with us. We used to give tribute to the Lady of Struggles-” Oh this just got better and better. “- before Springdale was destroyed. I don’t know how you noticed us when I was trying to sanctify the altar, but I’m very thankful.” The red lizardling sounded and looked earnest and even bowed towards the altar before he scurried away. It reminded Straxus of his brothers. 

The former student stretched out on the altar and closed his eyes.

  
  
  


Being dead was boring. 

Staying inside the shrine didn’t appeal to Straxus. He had tried thinking up ways to get out of his situation but conceded defeat after a day. Everything he could remember reading about ghosts, undead, hauntings and things to deal with those was simply not possible or too dangerous if you were the ghost in question. He didn’t want to end up banishing himself to one of the realms below, for example, and spectral dissolving sounded suddenly much more painful when he was the one who would be dissolved.

So he took to wandering around the village. The kobold hunting party had left a day after the kicked bowl incident and not returned yet. Nobody seemed to worry about this, apparently several days were considered normal if the hunters were trying to track and run down larger game.

He had spent three days observing the lizardlings so far and noticed a few peculiar things. Most of them seemed to be younger, or what he assumed to be younger in any case. Their scales had almost no cracks and in most cases a certain shine to them. The chieftain, in comparison, looked a bit worn and moved in a stiffer, slower manner.

Despite this high number of young kobolds, the number of actual children was quite low. He ended up counting twelve tiny lizardlings of various not-adult sizes. His estimate for the whole of the village was somewhere around a hundred kobolds, which would mean roughly ten percent of their population were children. Unless they had outlying farmholds or outposts, which seemed ridiculous, this number seemed almost… worrying.

They also owned a perplexing mix of items. Their clothing turned out to be actually quite well made, once he took some time to examine it. Finely woven cloth and well made leathers could be seen all around the village, yet he found no loom or anything similar anywhere and every kobold only owned one, at the most two sets of such good clothing. Their tools were crude in most cases, apart from one kobold craftsman who sported actual iron tools for woodworking. Straxus couldn’t find any kind of smelter or forge anywhere in the tiny village, but those tools were definitely made for kobold hands. The village also felt new. There was still grass between the huts and little pathways were just starting to form where constant foot traffic passed.

This, together with the things he had overheard, painted a quite grim picture for Straxus. Without actually wanting to, he caught himself feeling compassionate. They were obviously trying to make the best out of a bad situation. Having a random ghost haunt their shrine had to be the last thing they needed or wanted. Of course, the former student would have been elated if the actual divine owner of said shrine decided to evict him. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be happening for whatever reason.

So, faced with this sad reality and sheer, mind numbing, fear inducing boredom, Straxus prepared himself. If he was to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, he would deal with it. Especially since ‘foreseeable future’ could be a long, long time. Or as his knowing was eager to tell him:  _ You will keep existing as long as you can keep from fading away. _

He didn’t know what ‘fading’ meant in this context, but his gut told him it would be highly unpleasant.  _ It was. A slow spiral into half-nothingness, where- _

It didn’t sound like dying. More like ‘stuck at the edge of existing’, which would be even worse than haunting a kobold village.  _ He could do more than that, he only needed the energy. He could take the blood. The blood was dangerous, but- _

Straxus was growing too bored. Keeping his mind from wandering was getting more difficult with every passing day. He needed something to do. Unfortunately, he was dead as a doornail and about as capable of action.

  
  


When the hunting party returned five days after the bowl incident, Straxus was actually almost napping. Out of desperation, he had taken to spending a few hours each day with the little red kobold while the lizardling was meditating. Being close to Wordsmith during this time settled his thoughts for some reason. His knowing was easier kept in its cage and the boredom no longer seemed as horrible. Sometimes he even felt as if he was dozing. 

He had been enjoying a good doze-nap when loud cheering started coming from the village. Wordsmith broke his meditation almost immediately. His head snapped up and he, with a wide grin, ran outside as fast as his little lizard legs could carry him. Straxus opened his eyes far more slowly and yawned as he uncurled from his position around the shaman’s fire pit. There was no need to stretch his body, but he did it anyway. Then he followed at a far more sedate pace.  _ The hunters were back. No injuries, but a lot of game. The village stocks could need it- _

The villagers were gathering around the victorious hunters. Several bunnies, badgers and smaller pieces of game were divided up around the various families  _ according to needs and importance of the family members _ . A few steps away from the commotion, a kobold with an athletic build and glossy black and blue scales was holding a small fawn still with a leash. The animal looked as happy to be there as Straxus felt about his whole new existence.

“Good job!” The kobold chieftain waded through the throng of lizardlings. They did not scatter for her the way they had for Wordsmith when he came running. How peculiar. The more time Straxus spent around these lizardlings, the more interesting their behaviour and the reasons for it became. Of course, this was most likely due to the fact that he had nothing else to amuse him. Boredom had ever been his greatest enemy.  _ Aside from Tatum’s- _

Straxus really, really needed something to do.

“We managed to down the doe as well.”, the glossy kobold muttered. “We tried to get as much meat from it as we could and buried the rest far out west, a little bit down the mountain side. Bunnyhugger has most of it.” He gestured to the average sized but burly kobold that was strapped down with two axes and more satchels and sacks than Straxus would have thought possible. It was almost as comical as his apparent name.

The kobold version of a muscleman waved to the chieftain. “Want me to bring it to the smoking hut, chief?” His voice was particularly low and growly. “Should make good rations.”

“Good idea Bunny.” The chieftain nodded and went back to inspecting the fawn. “This is a good catch.”

“I just hope it works.” Straxus had to get pretty close to catch the hunter’s words. Farseeker was one of those people who never raised their voice past ‘barely audible’. “You certainly look happy Wordy.”

Said shaman did in fact look very happy. Wordsmith was carefully prodding and poking the fawn’s sides and nose. The animal did not look amused. Straxus gave it a commiserating look. “It’s a wonderful animal. The Lady of Battle or the Lord of Blood would love it for sure…” The shaman’s tail, slowly swishing from right to left just a second ago, suddenly twitched a bit. “I’m sure it’s going to be well-received.”

“We have a bunny as well, if Bun or Hugs haven’t made off with it.”, Farseeker grumbled. “You wanted something that burrows, right?”

Wordsmith happily nodded. “Yes. Actually, I would like to have the bunny first.”

“Sure thing.” Farseeker turned away, checking in with the other hunters while Wordsmith took the rope and kept the fawn still. Straxus gave its head a little pat out of sympathy. At the same time, the Shaman stopped his prodding and the animal finally calmed down a bit. Far too soon, Farseeker returned, a little white and grey bunny squirming in his hands. “Fast little thing, this one. We got it more or less by pure chance.”

The kobolds started to half drag, half carry both animals up towards the mountain’s cliffside. Behind them followed Straxus, marching along grim-faced and determined, a ghostly apparition of uncomfortableness. While Wordsmith seemed to grow excited and anxious, Straxus only felt his determination grow with every step.

He would not allow this blood business to continue. He didn’t care who the altar belonged to or how he got attached to it. While he had to endure being attached to it, there would be no blood business. He was sorry for whoever this deity was, but he had to draw a line. He could accept and tolerate a lot of things, had tolerated many things during his life and would likely tolerate many more even after his death. But life sacrifices were officially forbidden. Even thinking about it gave him  _ a worried feeling, as if bad things could come from it.  _

They arrived at the shrine far too soon for Straxus liking. Two of the hunters were left in front of the cave to watch the poor fawn. The rest: Farseeker, Wordsmith, the chieftain and a fairly young light-blue scaled kobold, went on in.

Wordsmith made a beeline to the altar and the bowl in front of it. Farseeker was left holding the struggling bunny, while the chieftain simply watched. The young, blue-scaled kobold however stopped short. “This doesn’t look like the old shrine.” His remark was cheerful, but also curious. “I like the decorations a lot more though. The old shrine was too dark and gloomy.”

“That’s the way the Lady of Struggles liked it.”, Farseeker commented. “Or so I was told.” The hunter’s gaze swept across the cave. His mouth twitched slightly.

“We didn’t exactly stop to pack the shrine trappings while we were fleeing for our lives.” The chieftain’s voice had a cutting edge to it. Farseeker merely raised his eyebrows, shrugged and leant his back against the cave wall. 

“So we’re going to make new trappings then?” The blue-scaled one didn’t let the byplay disturb him one bit. While Wordsmith was preparing the bowl by washing and polishing it, he kept chattering on. Straxus was getting exhausted just listening to his chipper voice.

“My cousin could probably sew new cloth coverings. I don’t know if we can find good dyes, though. The old trappings were all dark greys, reds, and dark brown, right? And we should save the animals’ skulls after hunting, right? I’m sure we can get the shrine back in shape in no time!” That sounded depressing. Straxus wasn’t the most cheerful person, but from the sounds of it, decorative taste was one of the things this member of the Great Five struggled the most with.

“I’m sure Wordsmith will tell us what he needs when the time comes.”, the chieftain said. From his place near the altar, Straxus could see Farseeker roll his eyes behind the blue ones back.

The young shaman cleared his throat. “I- I am ready, I mean, everything is ready for the sacrifice.” He twisted his hands before awkwardly reaching for the dagger at his side. “Do you- I mean, you probably want to stay?”

“It is customary for those who provided the sacrifice to be there during the ritual.”, the chieftain remarked. “So I’m guessing that would be Farseeker and Hugsalot.”

“Actually it was Bunny, but well…” The blue-scaled kobold with the most ridiculous name Straxus had ever had the misfortune to hear shrugged. “You know how he likes small critters. He didn’t want to come and Far and I caught the fawn, so…” Suddenly, Straxus had found a new favourite kobold. Bunnyhugger, potential saviour of critters small and furry, seemed to share an important opinion with the ghost.

Wait a minute. If the provider had to be present, wouldn’t that mean Wordsmith had to have caught the chicken last time himself? How interesting.

Wordsmith, who didn’t see Straxus mustering him from head to toe, just nodded. “Right, that’s fine, I guess. So… we can get started as soon as you want, just hand it over.”

The poor little bunny passed hands and Wordsmith once again proved that he was astoundingly competent at holding small, struggling creatures with one hand while waving a dagger about with the other.

“Oh great one, I, Wordsmith of the Shadowseeker tribe beseech thee to grant me your ear.”

And there he went. Straxus walked right in front of the shaman, directly next to the altar, and gathered his resolve. As soon as any kind of sudden feeling overcame him, that bunny was getting saved. By being kicked, if necessary. 

“I’ve never been present for one of these before.”, the blue one said in a half-whisper. “That sounds creepy. Does he have to use that language?”

Wait, what? Straxus missed whatever the chieftain answered.

The shaman was speaking another language?! He honestly hadn’t noticed. It had sounded just like Wordsmith’s normal speech to him. A bit more ancient and stuffy, perhaps, but perfectly understandable all the same. Then again, it probably made sense this way. If he could understand kobold language, why not whatever this was as well? Apparently the soul really did speak its own universal language. Straxus owed at least one literature lecturer an apology.

“I humbly ask thee to look favourably upon our tribe in our time of need. Please accept this offering as a sign of our devotion and promise.”

And there went the second part of this little ritual. Straxus put the new information to the back of his mind and focussed on the shaman. The little kobold’s hand moved determinedly towards the bunny and - cut the little rodents throat.

What.

When did the shaman go from scratching legs to cutting throats and why?! More importantly-

The first gush of blood hit the bowl and Straxus nearly gagged. The taste hit him sooner and much stronger than the first time. He felt the cold leave him almost completely. A sudden, rushing warmth hit him from the inside out, making his body tingle pleasantly and his head spin.  _ Condensed energy. Only few things were as potent as this. It was the fastest way he could gather strength, but dangerous as well. _

It felt as good as it tasted disgusting. He hadn’t even realised how numb he had been these last days. The cold of night hadn’t affected him much but the warmth of the sun hadn’t reached him either.  _ He was not bound to the mortal realm any longer, unless something connected him to it. _ He usually had a vague feeling of the ground beneath his feet but suddenly he could actually feel the smooth, polished stone surface touching his bare feet, felt a small gust of wind play around his fingers-

This was almost worth the trade-off of tasting the iron tang of blood. Maybe he could learn to live with it. He even felt stronger, as if  _ it was helping him grow.  _ He felt more relaxed and energised while the bunny was dying in front of him. Maybe he really did siphon off its life. Some undead could do that, he vaguely recalled. Although he was definitely not a vampire…

The nice feeling and the warmth had spread to every part of his ghostly body. It almost completely masked the taste now. This actually wasn’t so bad. This was manageable. This-

_ This was dangerous. If he kept doing this, he might not be able to stop anymore. Addiction was not only a mortal affliction. _

Straxus had a lot of gut feelings. Everybody had them to some extent. Vague, unexplainable feelings. But he also had his knowing. It was strange and unwanted and intrusive, his curse from birth. His curse that had always been utterly certain.

As much as Straxus disliked his knowing, he knew he could trust it. It had never been wrong during his life, even when he had wished it would be. It did not take his feelings into account. It simply was. So when it told him this was dangerous, he took immediate action.

He knelt down, almost falling over in the process. Only when he tried to coordinate his arms and hands did he realise how much he was swaying and shaking.  _ Incorporating so much condensed energy at once in his current state was dangerous in itself. His new body was not yet used to it. _ Grasping the twitching, sluggishly moving bunny inside the sacrificial bowl took precious moments and all of his effort and concentration.

He could feel its heart pulsing slowly, laboriously underneath his hands. It wouldn’t survive much longer. Its fur was matted with blood, but there was almost no blood inside the bowl. Which made sense,  _ he had taken it after all _ .

Desperate, Straxus tried to close the gash across the bunny’s wound with his hands. Although he could feel the animal clearly, down to the soft but squishy, blood-sprinkled fur, nothing seemed to happen.  _ Even if he did, the little bunny would still die _ .Unless he could do something about that.

Maybe  _ he could give back what he had taken _ . He could deal with being numb and cold, could survive without it. He didn’t necessarily need this energy,  _ it just made things more comfortable right now _ . So Straxus concentrated on the warmth that filled him, ignored how good it made him feel and just willed it to pool in his hands.  _ That was one way to focus his energy. _ And then he pushed his hands into the bunny.

It didn’t feel as weird as he had feared. The bunny was cold on the inside, but aside from that he didn’t feel anything. He concentrated on the cold and tried to chase it away with his warmth. The rodent twitched once, twice, stilling inside the bowl.  _ He was too late. The only thing he could do now was make its sacrifice mean more to lessen the taint. _ Determined, Straxus pushed more warmth into his hands and pulled one of them out of the little thing.

His hand was glowing with a dark blue light. The glow distracted him for a second or two only.  _ No time. _ Gently he moved his hand along the animal’s throat, tracing the wound with a finger. Ever so slowly, it closed. He could see flesh stitching itself back together, smoothing itself out and fur regrowing over it.  _ The life was already taken, though. _

His other hand sent a pulse into the bunny’s chest. The pulse grew stronger and clearer. Soon he could feel the vibrations through his hand and then his whole body as well as the bunny’s, until they were pulsing as one. The warmth had left him, leaving him even colder than before the whole ritual and shaking with exhaustion.  _ This tiny body was claimed now. _

The bunny twitched and jumped up, flipping the bowl over.  _ The taint would not stain him for this _ . Straxus smiled and tried to steady himself. He felt as if he could fall over and go to sleep any minute now.  _ He needed to replenish and have his new claimed body settle within his aethereal shape. _

His head ached, words he never wanted to know intruding upon his thoughts.  _ Three days walking or one jump through the cracks to get to the vault. _ The world swam in front of his eyes, fuzzy and indistinct. Black lines criss-crossed the cave suddenly, pulsating to their own beats.  _ There are seventeen ways to kill a mocking wraith and three of them a mortal can even survive. _ Reality tilted sideways suddenly and Straxus knew he had to do something.  _ Something inside these mountains is sleeping in the Aether. _ Straxus shoved as strongly as he dared too and the black cracks disappeared. Reality rushed back into place.

“Now that’s better.” Sighing happily, he pushed his knowing back into the corner of his mind he kept it in. He didn’t need it anymore  _ right now _ .

Shouting and loud voices reminded him that the kobolds were still present. A look up and sure, there they were. Farseeker pressed against the far cave wall, one hand on his bow. The chieftain and the little blue one stood next to each other, completely frozen and staring towards the altar and the healed bunny. And Wordsmith, kneeling right in front of him with wide eyes, looking down at him.

Fighting off the tiredness, Straxus snorted. The bunny sneezed. “Now, I hope this puts to rest all this sacrificing business. I am not a live sacrifice kind of being. If you absolutely must sacrifice food, cook it first.”

The hunter in the back of the cave made a strangled sound. “It’s not just me, right? That rabbit just talked?” The chieftain’s flabbergasted shoulder shrug was his only answer.

Even Straxus only sat there kneeling, just staring at the kobold. He was still feeling woozy and weak, his heartbeat still sluggish in his ears despite being so loud after he hadn’t heard it in so long.

Straxus froze. Ghosts shouldn’t have heartbeats, he was fairly sure.

He was also sure he had just voluntarily lost his ability to feel the floor with all its texture, so he didn’t understand why he could feel it again, as if he was kneeling on it with his hands and feet.

“We-” Wordsmith was shaking all over his body. His tail kept alternating between being completely still and flailing all over the place. “We thank you for gracing us with your presence, Great One. We also apologize for any insult we may have offered you.” And then he bowed deep before the bunny.

The bunny that sat completely still next to the flipped bowl and made no move to run anywhere, unlike the chicken before. The blue kobold piped up in the background - “What are they saying?” - but was quickly shushed by the chieftain. Furrowing his brows, Straxus experimentally concentrated on the animal and-

The rodent hopped from the left to the right, then went for a quick circle around the altar only to end up in front of Straxus again.

He had been able to feel each and every one of its steps. Muscles moving, paws hitting the smooth stone floor. Now he could even smell things, like the rank stench of bloodied fur. The sensations weren’t quite the same as if he had taken the steps himself, but real enough. He had a body again! Kind of. Mostly.

So apparently he could add some kind of animal possession to his list of after-life achievements. If he had learned this while he was alive, his uncle would have been ecstatic. Fortunately, Straxus had lived to disappoint him and his uncle most likely had no way of knowing that he had survived his death. Thank his murderer for small mercies.

A sudden thought flitted through his mind. His murderer would likely have to deal with his uncle coming after him now. Oh, that was glorious. It almost made up for the fact he had just possessed a bunny and gained a kobold cult.

“Is the shrine to your liking, Great One?” Wordsmith’s hesitant voice cut Straxus dreamy imagination of his uncle’s formidable wrath short. Right, dealing with the problems at hand. A lifetime spent with his family forced Straxus to focus on the positive aspects of any situation he found himself in. At least he could communicate now.

“It is very basic, but to be honest I don’t care a lot about decorations. I’m also not one of the Great Five Below or anything like that. Actually I don’t really know how I ended up here.” That should be sufficiently direct.

Wordsmith had stopped bowing and started wringing his hands instead. “I am very sorry, that was my failing. There might- I had a- There most likely was a… happening during the sanctification. Please do not curse us for having called upon thee without the proper rituals.”

Straxus had spent enough time around flustered students to recognize someone covering their mistake when he saw it. So maybe this played into why he was here as well.

“Curse?! Cursing anyone takes a lot of work and emotional investment, I’m not doing that.” Straxus pinched his nose and sighed. The bunny mirrored his movements by putting a paw on its face and performing a kind of shoulder twitch. “Right, so you don’t know how I ended up here as well.”

The former Althun would have said a lot more, if his tiredness hadn’t just caught up with him. He could see the cave walls move and sway. The same creeping exhaustion he had felt on his trek down the mountain came upon him. “I would like to talk more, but right at this moment I can’t. We might as well make the most of this situation and see if and how we could help each other. If that’s alright with you?”

Wordsmith’s response was more than just excited. “Of course! Divine One, we would be overjoyed to accept thee as our patron! Our tribe is small but hardy and crafty, renowned for our curiosity and inventions! The Shadowseekers are honoured to accept your patronage!”

Straxus felt more than saw the bright flash that overtook his vision, as he was already so tired that even seeing was hard. Then there was a sudden rush of energy, warm but unlike the burning, tingling blood warmth of before. This was a gentle, cozy warmth. Behind him, the altar chimed with the sound of glass clinking against glass. He raised his head and looked at the stone construction that, although it looked just like before, suddenly seemed a lot more inviting. In fact, something told him that _ this was the perfect spot to regain his energy. _

So he heaved himself on top of the stone surface. It was warm and inviting and almost soft for him, like a luxurious bedspread. The feeling of stone underneath his bunny feet was irritating in comparison to it, so he  _ checked that the assimilation was complete _ and  _ dismissed his bunny-self _ for the moment.

After almost a whole tenday without true rest, sleep sounded heavenly. His kobolds could do without him at the moment.  _ There was no danger coming their way right now _ . He needed to rest, desperately.  _ He could join the Sleeper in the Aether. It liked his presence; he smelt like home _ .

Straxus was asleep the moment his head came to rest on the polished stone.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has more exposition than I usually like in my stories, but somehow I felt it fit Straxus' voice quite well. His mind does go off on the weirdest tangents, mostly to his own detriment. But we will soon see a lot more action :)

#  III

Straxus had always been at least a little bit afraid of his uncle.

Acrisius Vorn was an ambitious, imposing man. Many things could be and were said about him. As the older Vorn brother, he had inherited the Vorn family estate and businesses from Straxus’ grandfather long before Straxus had even been born. Not only was he known as a canny businessman, he had also gained a seat in the senate quite early on in his life and was well-known throughout the Althun Republic.

Unfortunately, Straxus’ desire to keep his distance from his uncle was not mutual. For reasons Straxus had never been willing to understand, Acrisius actually liked him. Liked him so much in fact that he tried to make time for his nephew.

Having his uncle’s attention was exhausting for Straxus. The only good thing that came from it was Acrisius’ willingness to indulge his nephew in whatever interests he had. Which was mostly reading, often about obscure things.

When he finally woke up on top of the altar, Straxus, for the first time in his life, felt grateful for his uncle’s favour and ability to find and procure books about any topic.

The altar still felt like soft bedding. It wasn’t quite what he had been used to at his parent’s estate, but close. It was definitely better than what he had been sleeping on in Fortis Secunda. The gemstones sparkled in the background while he could see the first rays of sunlight coming in through the cave entrance.

Back when he had been around sixteen years old, Straxus had gone on a reading binge about ‘scary magical beings’. Undead were naturally included in this. And while ghosts could possess beings or things under certain circumstances, as far as he knew they couldn’t possess an altar and gain powers. They certainly shouldn’t be able to make bunnies talk, altars glow or suddenly gain instant knowledge of how many kobolds lived in the village outside the shrine they were haunting, where they were in the village and whether they were healthy or not.

Straxus could, of course, have known all that even while he was alive. If he had stopped suppressing his knowing, that is. Which he never would have. His vexing ability didn’t seem to be responsible for this, however, even if it was so much harder to hold back now. Still, he tried to use it a little bit, if only to check.  _ Those kobolds were tied to him now. That connection would work always, even if he shut his mind to the words between the cracks. _

Shaking his head, he locked his knowing back up inside his mind. Straxus wished all these things would just go away completely if he ignored them. Unfortunately, knowledge and powers were not the same things as people. The latter were fickle and easily diverted. The first were emotionless and unrelenting.

For a few wonderful minutes, the former student simply stayed where he was. He closed his eyes and pretended to be in bed. Maybe if he just did nothing, the situation would magically solve itself. That would be perfect actually. Anything that kept him from having to deal with the situation he found himself in would be wonderful. He didn’t want to be undead, he didn’t want to be worshipped by kobolds, he didn’t want to be anything important or strange at all.

He didn’t want a lot of things, but reality had never cared for what he wanted.

He used to have plans. Simple plans. Endure his uncle’s doting, study the easiest thing he could to maximise his free time, inherit the family estate upon his uncle’s death and then promptly hand it over to his younger brothers under the stipulation that he would remain entitled to a small living space and income. Never, ever, tell anybody of his knowing.

Easy, direct, comfortable. Possible.

Instead he had been killed three months prior to graduation in such a way that he was now stuck magically bound to a bunch of kobolds. Maybe, if he had followed his uncle’s urging to instead study something, anything at the Academy of Magical & Supernatural Arts instead of history and archeology, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe he could have magicked himself into the afterlife by now.

_ He could magick anything he wanted, if he would just listen to- _

With sudden clarity Straxus realised he had just regretted not following his uncle’s advice and sat up. That was, without question, the worst thing his murderer had forced upon him. Agreeing with Acrisius Vorn was a sure sign he was doing something wrong and morally reprehensible that would lead him down a dark path, as experience had shown. Clearly, immediate action needed to be taken. No matter what that action was.

It took all the energy he could muster, but slowly his feet touched the ground. After a minute of just sitting on the altar, gathering his strength, he pushed himself up and trudged out of the cave.

The palisade around the village was completed. Straxus paused his steps. He was sure it hadn’t even been near completion when he went to sleep. A quick glance confirmed what his hunch was already telling him: considerably more time than just one day had passed.  _ The Sleeper had been happy for company. _

New constructions were visible. A small wooden house was taking shape near the southern end of the living area and several of the thrown-together huts had been reinforced with sturdier wood. A kind of logging and woodworking station had been set up between the outer palisade and the kobolds’ homes, and the chickens were properly fenced in.

“Industrious little things, aren’t they.”, Straxus muttered to himself. Then he set off down the path towards Wordsmith’s hut. He knew the shaman was at home, as his new kobold feeling informed him. Three other kobolds were with him, but the feeling Straxus got from them felt almost… blurry. In fact, every other kobold felt different from Wordsmith. The shaman’s presence was clearer, sharper.  _ This made sense, of course, the priest was- _

His knowing was ruthlessly squashed. This was getting annoying. He would need to find out why it was so much harder to quieten it.

Wordsmith’s hut hadn’t changed much from the outside. The walls had been reinforced and weren’t quite as drafty and the door was a little bit less crooked. As he walked in though, Straxus saw that someone had been trying to excavate into the mountain side. The beginnings of a corridor were slowly taking shape.

Two kobolds with crude pickaxes were busy at work while a third, heavyset one filled sacks with the debris and carried those outside. Wordsmith himself was puttering around one corner of the main room, mumbling to himself and carving little stones. Mildly curious and with nothing better to do, Straxus ambled over and took a glance at the carvings.

They looked like a variation of Thoome’s magical rune system with a few additions he didn’t recognise. The fact that he recognised the runes, especially these runes, made him pause. Thoome had been an Althunite after all, and those didn’t often deal with kobolds.

Then he remembered that Thoome had invented this system to create an easy to remember, easy to use, simplified magical rune system that anybody with even a smidgeon of magical talent could understand. A system every last magically powered idiot could, and sadly did take advantage of. The fact that even lizardlings in the middle of nowhere were included was the best proof that Thoome had been both very successful in his endeavour and one of the biggest idiots Straxus had ever read about. 

Putting thoughts about idiotic scholars out of his mind, Straxus tried to guess what Wordsmith was doing. He had, after all, memorised the whole silly system so that his brothers could win a bet.

A few minutes of watching the shaman at work told him the polished stones were supposed to end up as a kind of alarm set up. It wasn’t even half bad. Wordsmith’s hands were steady, he clearly knew how to carve a good rune and understood the underlying logical principles.

Too bad he wasn’t interlinking the stones. These would do nothing but check their individual surroundings for trespassers and emit a little bit of light when the alert rune was triggered. A pretty lighting system for anybody walking around after dark, but not really useful for protection. Would make a wonderful lawn ornament though. His mother had paid good coin for something similar only three years back.

There was no deactivation rune either. In short, it was a failure but he commended the kobold’s effort. He’d seen first semester students do worse in more spectacular ways. “Good luck with that then.” Straxus patted Wordsmith’s shoulder as well as he could, walked over to the fire pit in the middle of the hut and sat down.

This close to the kobolds, his current problems seemed less daunting. He was even starting to feel less exhausted. Wordsmith hummed while he worked and the diggers were chattering about a girl down in the village. It was calm, relaxing. If he closed his eyes he could pretend they weren’t sentient lizards half his size.

Time to face the music.

Time to think things through and do something about the situation he found himself in.

He was reasonably certain that he was not, in fact, a ghost. Which was wonderful in the sense that he was not a member of the universally reviled and feared undead, but horrible in the sense that he had no idea what he now was.

Apart from dead, his knowing quickly pointed out.  _ He was no longer alive. He had transcended the physical world. He- _

He could feel the kobolds inside the village, Wordsmith in particular. He could feel the altar. Something had clearly happened when he had changed the bunny, but only after he and Wordsmith had talked.

He also felt rested and, there was no other word for it, energised on a bodily level. Insofar as he had a body. As if he could do things now. He didn’t know what kind of things, just that he could… do stuff now. He shuddered. ‘Do stuff’, indeed. Death had made him eloquent.

Well, nothing for it but get to it. Watching Wordsmith had already given him an idea. Concentrating on the energy he could feel, Straxus raised a hand. Channeling the energy just like he had done for the bunny, he started tracing runes in the air with his finger. Just a quick and simple three-sign array pointed at the unlit fire pit. The runes appeared, shimmering in the air for a moment before they disappeared with a bright flash and the leftover wood inside the pit caught fire.

Whatever kind of energy it was, it was sufficiently similar to magical flux that Straxus could use it for spells. Useful knowledge. Unfortunately, he may have forgotten to consider how the suddenly appearing runes and lit fire pit may affect the kobolds.

The two diggers and the burly one startled and shrieked, taking cover inside the recently excavated corridor. Wordsmith whirled around, throwing one of his rune stones away in surprise. The stone launched right at Straxus’ head, which made him scramble to the side automatically, even though the stone could pass through him.

“What happened? Why did the fire start?!”, demanded one of the diggers, visibly disturbed by what was happening. He was holding his pick ready as if it was a weapon.

“It just started by itself!”, the burly one answered, hiding behind one of the half-filled sacks. Which didn’t help much as his tail, head and arms were poking out on all sides.

“By itself?” Wordsmith wandered over and examined everything. The shaman poked the very edges of the burning wood with a claw tipped finger and scratched his chin. “My runes shouldn’t have done that…”, Straxus heard him mutter.

That was the former student’s cue to leave and take his experiments somewhere else. Preferably somewhere where nobody was, like the shrine. He left four perplexed and slightly scared kobolds behind.

A few hours later the shrine had underwent a redecoration. The first thing Straxus had figured out was that the gems and crystals Wordsmith had found and polished could serve as adequate magical anchors. Just to test his abilities he spent the next hour afterwards making them glow softly and attaching them to different parts of the cave ceiling. Then he had settled back on top of the altar and just relaxed for a while.

Whatever this energy he had now was, he didn’t have a lot of it. Sticking the gems to the ceiling had already tired him out slightly. Thankfully he could feel new energy flowing into him from the kobold village at a small, but steady trickle.

He was evidently being powered by the kobolds.  _ They nourished his spirit. _

This would explain why he lost consciousness on his first day, only to wake up again inside the shrine. A kind of in-build self-preservation measure, most likely.  _ The Aether anchored him to this place, for now. _ His new form fed, for lack of a better word, on something that these lizardlings were providing. He didn’t necessarily need this energy to exist, but he did need it to stay awake.  _ The Aether was selfish. _ If he was provided with more energy than being awake and aware required, the excess could be used for something. Magic, at the very least.  _ The Aether was generous. _

Straxus had a sneaking suspicion he knew what his murderer had attempted and which part of it he had failed at. Even if he hadn’t read the treatise on sustenance driven half-state beings by Ruber Piscarius, his third semester lecture on the ‘Bogwater Crisis’ would still have introduced him to the concept of faith eaters. Powerful spirits that could interject themselves into places of worship, siphon off the power of faith and gain their own powers as a result.

So he wasn’t just a random undead being. He was a faith eating quasi-undead being that was seen as an enemy by basically all religions, who had stolen a shrine from one of the Five Below. 

He didn’t see this ending well for him.

_ No ending was ever assured. _

His murderer had probably wanted to be in his place right now but managed to get the most important part of his ritual wrong: the target. Maybe the warlock had also used Thoome’s system instead of studying the actual underlying magical principles. Or maybe  _ he had, but his rune carving was atrocious. _

Straxus felt like banging his head against the cave wall. Wonderful. Here was not laid to rest Straxus Vorn, killed doubly by bad handwriting.

That was the problem when idiots built off of each others work: their idiocy multiplied.

Straxus could only hope that these particular kobolds and their worship wouldn’t be missed any time soon.  _ Unlikely. They were forsaken. _

For the first time in his life, he had a bigger problem than his uncle’s ambitions. If he was discovered by a member of a faith, any faith - and he would be discovered, it was only a question of when - they would undoubtedly try to kill him.  _ They would certainly try. _ That was what any clergy did to faith eaters.

He could only see two options: Coast along with these kobolds for as long as he could and then die when a priest, most likely one of the Five, discovered him.

Or he could actually put work into presenting himself as some kind of divine being, binding these kobolds to him and using them to create defences against the inevitable attack. 

Option one meant being lazy and comfortable until he died. Option two meant work and effort. Straxus was very much an option one kind of person. It was what he had wanted his life to be anyway, so there wasn’t even much difference. If he threw himself directly upon the first undead slaying weapon brandished in his direction once whoever was sent to get rid of him got here, he wouldn’t even suffer much.  _ If such a weapon could kill him. _

His demise could even be far in the future. It could be years before somebody was sent to check up on this shrine. Maybe even longer. He could relax, enjoy a few years of having no responsibilities, no social gatherings where he needed to show up, no parents, no annoying, tiring tasks coming from everyday living. The days of having run out of clean dishes and contemplating whether to clean them by hand, using magic or just eat out were over.

Of course, he would be alone. He would never see his little brothers again. Hopefully they were coping with his death. His uncle would take care of them, surely. He didn’t actively dislike them and surely, in memory of Straxus... Maybe he could save up a bit of kobold energy and visit or watch them magically. Even if they couldn’t see him, at least seeing them would give him some peace of mind. He could check up on the students he’d tutored, as well. He could even use his knowing to- No. Bad idea.

Aside from that, was being alone really so bad?

_ Being alone was not what he was afraid of. _

He had never been a very social person. He didn’t like most people and most people certainly didn’t like him, his own parents included.  _ Their disappointment ran too deep. _ He had never needed a lot of close friends. The last one to hold that title had been-

He could always watch the kobolds go about their lives, even if they couldn’t see him. That would be better than sitting inside this blasted cave, brooding.

Straxus had already talked himself into making peace with his new not-life when a horrible, terrible revelation came to him.

There was nothing to do  _ but  _ watch kobolds.

He didn’t have any of his books. He had no way of getting his books. He had, in fact, no way of getting any kind of book at all without asking the kobolds, and they didn’t seem the book purchasing kind of beings. They couldn’t even enter any kind of Althun town without being killed on sight. The enforcers and Althun Legion were very firm on their stance upon pest-rated lesser humanoids.

With horrible clarity, he realised the rest of his possibly long unlife would be mind-numbingly boring and monotonous if things stayed the way they were now.

_ Boredom was not what he was afraid of. _

His future could be years upon years of watching kobolds be born, grow old and die, until some random priest came along. And nothing else. The boredom would kill him before a priest even came to this village.

_ No it wouldn’t. It would just make him give in to the- _

  
  


He was up and marching back to Wordsmith’s hut in an instant. This was no time for thinking. Thinking with nothing to do never lead to good results. 

He barrelled through the wall, coming to a stop right in front of the shaman. The kobold was frowning at his alarm stones, activating one of them and looking unhappy when the rest didn’t respond.

Straxus pinched his nose and took a deep breath. “Congratulations. You don’t know it yet, but you are going to be the best kobold priest you can possibly be and this village,” he gestured towards the hut’s door, even though Wordsmith couldn’t see him, “is going to become the greatest kobold metropolis anybody has ever seen. Because I need something to do and your village is the only thing I can do something with!” He finished by pointing at the rune covered stones. “And the first thing we are going to do is teach you to use this system correctly and elevate you to capable idiot.”

Wordsmith, understandably, didn’t react. Right. He was having an episode again. Straxus rubbed his temple and thought about how he could do this. He could simply cast a runic spell, but that wouldn’t actually teach anything. He needed to talk to him to teach him, so- “Where did the bunny go?” He looked around as if it would be sitting around in a corner of the room, which was of course ridiculous.

_ It had already been incorporated into his aethereal body. _

Time to calm down before this fiasco turned him into an idiot as well.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated. He remembered how it felt to feel the ground with paws, to experience two points of view almost. His body started to tingle as his energy surged and flowed out of him-

A bunny with glowing eyes and dark blue lines running across its fur jumped out of his chest and onto the hut’s floor.    
Well.

He had a built-in bunny now. He would panic about that as soon as he was back in his shrine-cave.

At least it was practical. And thankfully nobody but the shaman was there so he didn’t have to deal with a kobold panic this time.

Wordsmith started prostrating himself at the bunny’s feet, which was decidedly less helpful. Straxus didn’t even make the effort to listen to whatever he was saying and just cut him off. “Oh, please stop that. That’s unnecessary. You don’t need to keep praising me or doing that.”

“I do not?” The priest looked completely dumbfounded. His tail had started twitching again.

“No.” Straxus sighed, making his bunny form wheeze. “I don’t need to constantly hear how great I supposedly am. There are better things we can do with our time, aren’t there?” He nodded towards the rune stones spread out across the hut. “Your alarm system isn’t working.”

Wordsmith actually cringed. “I am still working on it! My skills might not be comparable to yours, great- I mean, to yours. But I am getting better.”

“My comment was not a reprimand.” Straxus sighed again. This was just like tutoring first semesters again. “You have a clear grasp of the logic behind the system, but you’re missing a few runes and finer points.” He made his bunny form hop over to the biggest rune stone. “This one is supposed to be the main anchor, yes?”

Slowly, Wordsmith got back up on his feet und nodded. His tail was twitching back and forth, setting off several rune stones with every swing. “Y-yes. It’s going to be installed in the watchtower.” He was nervously eyeing the bunny.

Hopefully this anxiousness wouldn’t prevent him from learning something. Straxus chose to ignore the kobold’s unease for now and went down to business. “So you want this main stone to light up whenever any of the other alarm stones are activated. You need to link them with connection runes. This rune system has five of those. Do you know them?”

Wide-eyed, Wordsmith just shook his head ‘no’. He started to answer with a stutter and his voice went softer and softer the more he went on. “There wasn’t- my apprenticeship was cut short and there- there is no one to teach me now. I am mostly self-taught.” He added the last bit and took a half-step back.

“An autodidact then. Only your reference material is sadly lacking… well, no problem.” Straxus looked around and, not finding anything his bunny form could use, simply had it scratch the simplest connection rune into the dirt floor of the hut.

“This is the first connector. As you can see, its design is very easy and small. You can add it to basically anything you do using this runic system. This system only, alright? It’s never a good idea to mix runes unless you’re very sure of what you’re doing anyway, but you never, ever, mix this rune with any other system, because Thoome was an idiot and you’re liable to blow yourself up if you try it. Got it?”

“That- Thoome? I mean, I guess, I… Blowing myself up is bad, yes.” Wordsmith looked almost adorably confused. He scratched his head and studied the rune. “So this would go on all the stones then?”

“Yes. It can go anywhere without interfering with any neighbouring runes. Very simple and easy and not to be used with any other runic system.” Better to stress this point. He only had one kobold priest at the moment, after all. He wouldn’t even know how to appoint and train a new one if anything happened to Wordsmith.

The kobold merely nodded and picked up one of the smaller stones. Within a few moments, the small connector was added to the rune array and the system reset. However, when he made to do the same to the big stone, Straxus stopped him. “Not yet. Try another small one.” Confused, but obeying the supposedly divine bunny, Wordsmith did just that.

“Now we’ve got two linked stones that will both light up if anything near one of them moves.” Straxus looked at Wordsmith expectantly and waited. This was the moment where he would see what he had to work with.

The young shaman frowned. He threw one of the stones into the far corner of the hut and watched it glow, while he played with the other in his hand. Every now and then, he risked a nervous glance at the bunny sitting next to his fire pit. Finally, after what Straxus deemed a still acceptable amount of time, he blinked and looked up.

“If I use this to link all the stones, they will all glow when one glows. We wouldn’t know which direction the movement came from and the whole perimeter would glow!” The red kobold’s shoulders drooped. “So this is why we never used this system for Springdale. It’s useless for a bigger area!” The still glowing rune stone was thrown in the same corner where its counterpart was already lying forlornly on the ground.

Straxus felt his eyebrow and his bunny nose twitch. “Well, that was quick.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “This is the easiest connector, not the only one. There are five in total. They work slightly differently; you just need to choose the correct one for what you want to do.”

Hopping over to another free part of the dirt floor, Straxus made his bunny form scratch two different runes into the ground. “These two go together. This little one,” he indicated the first rune, “marks one part of an array. See this bit at the side? This is where you attach a number for sequencing. The big one,” he motioned towards the large, circular rune he had scratched, “gets additions for each marked connector along the main line. In the case of activation, only the activated sequence markers will glow.”

“So then somebody watching the main stone would know where something had moved!” The tip of Wordsmith’s tail started flopping around. “But there’s not much space for markers…”

“You can draw the rune bigger so long as it stays proportional.” 

“Oh, so, if I had a really big stone, I could make a large array with enough space for a rune circle all around the settlement! We would only need enough space in the watchtower to place it.” The kobold shaman started bouncing on his feet, tail swishing back and forth.

“You can also place the markers so that they match up to the way the small stones are spread out around the village, like a map almost.”, Straxus added helpfully. “Just make sure the stone has been smoothed and is big enough.”

“I’ll talk to chief Swiftstrike about asking around for a good stonemason or somebody with experience working with stone… Thank you so much great- I mean, I- thank you so much!” Wordsmith bowed deeply in front of the bunny. “We will hold a big ceremony as soon as the alarm circle is in place, I promise! We- do you have a preference for sacrifices, divine one?”

Well, Straxus had decided to do this, so he would have to deal with being called a divine being. Accepting sacrifices might not be so bad if it gave him more power… and they weren’t live ones. “I prefer cooked food, if you want to sacrifice that.” After a moment he added: “And maybe a sheet or cloth covering for the altar, for now.” 

He would think about experimenting with different kinds of sacrifices later. Focusing on getting his kobolds defenses up was a good first move and Wordsmith’s rune alarm idea had merit. Straxus dismissed his bunny-self. It burst into a shower of dark blue sparks as it dissolved. The excited shaman went running out, presumably to talk to the chieftain.

The former student slowly walked back up towards the cave entrance and settled down on the small ledge in front of it. He was exhausted. First decorating the shrine’s ceiling and then manifesting the bunny seemed to have taken all his energy. However, his head was blessedly silent now that he could focus on something specific to do and plan.

From this point, he had a good overview of the small kobold settlement. Construction was going on, children were playing and a few domesticated chickens were clucking around. It was idyllic, simple and boring.

It was everything Straxus had ever wanted to have and he hated the fact that he would be the one to change it. But if he had to choose between playing god and losing himself to the knowing? That was no choice at all. If the gods hadn’t wanted him to do this, they should have made sure he was sent to the afterlife.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this out sooner, but I have so much to do at the moment. There's just never enough time for anything. Still a lot of exposition, but Straxus current situation doesn't really help with getting some dialogue going... at least there's a bit. Next chapter will be a different POV - we will leave the kobolds behind and see Fortis Secunda.  
> The poem attributed to Tacitus in this chapter was indeed written by Tacitus, the Roman poet/writer. Also, if you've noticed the tags have changed: I'm still learning and experimenting. They might change again.

#  IV

The alarm system around the village was simple but effective. Wordsmith was a quick study. The end result was a bunch of small, carved stones scattered about the outer perimeter of the settlement. Every night, a kobold could activate the control stone to turn them into an alarm system that Straxus was frankly a little bit proud of. Wordsmith had even learned to make only the control stone’s runes glow.

No sense in warning whoever approached that they had been made, after all.

There was a big feast on the day the watchtower was finished and the heavy enchanted stone carried into it. By then, the alarm system had already been tested by basically every kobold in the village. The children especially seemed fascinated with the way the runes lit up on the control stone whenever the proximity alarm was triggered. Wordsmith got a lot of attention on these testing days, which left him very flustered. Much to Straxus’ amusement.

The shrine also saw a lot more traffic over the days leading up to the feast.

First because the chieftain, having been called up to the shrine by a frantic Wordsmith to see the newly attached-to-the-ceiling gemstones, declared it now officially sanctified by the village’s new patron. Which meant lots of curious kobolds visiting and cooing over the now sparkly ceiling.

Then they started coming by because Wordsmith explained how he had been taught the magical art of the alarm system by their new patron. Having a number of random kobolds stomping around what had kind of become Straxus’ bedroom was uncomfortable enough; hearing them offer heartfelt prayers of thanks was just awkward.

The shiny semi precious stones they left behind were nice though. Straxus especially liked the mottled blue and the dark green ones. In a fit of whimsy, he attached the blue ones to the cave walls and arranged the green ones around the altar. Now when he spent time on his altar-bed, he almost felt like a dragon. A poor one, but a dragon nonetheless. Kobold servants somehow seemed appropriate.

Unfortunately, any other plans Straxus had furtively made quickly stalled. While he had no trouble walking through the village and listening to the kobolds, he had no clear idea on how to help the village develop. City planning had never been one of the things he was interested in, to his uncle’s disappointment. Neither had been building houses. Or taming animals. Or masonry, weaving, foraging or anything else these kobolds needed to get done.

Thankfully they were fully capable of doing these things themselves. Their resourcefulness was actually quite impressing. Still, the ruralness of it galled Straxus. Fortis Secunda had not been even close to the Republic’s capital, but certain standards of living were simply available to every Althun. Straxus was used to bathing chambers offering running water. The kobolds had what could only very generously be called an ‘earth closet’.

He did, however, enjoy a steady stream of worship energy. And an ongoing stream of the village cooks’ finest dishes, mostly meat based. The kobolds sacrificed something roughly every three days. Cooked food went down much more easily. Straxus could actually taste what was given to him as it absorbed into the offering bowl.

One of the cooks in particular did something to chicken meat that made it taste especially spicey, but in a good way. Straxus liked it so much that he pushed some of his energy into the village’s chicken coop in hopes of boosting the number of newborn chicks. He certainly had enough energy to spare for such a thing; the regular sacrifices stuffed him full with it.

Moving through the village turned into a struggle directly after a sacrifice. He had never been one to overindulge in food before, but this must have been what eating until you felt like bursting must be. He usually spent nearly half a day afterwards lying on his altar, clutching his stomach and feeling like an overfed goose.

Trying to get rid off all this excess energy he seemed to have, he discovered that the clothes his ghostly form wore were changeable. So long as he had the energy to spare and willed it to be so, he could wear anything he liked. It didn’t change what little sensation his ghostly form gained from his surroundings, but it certainly made him feel better.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t feel the ground that well, he just wanted some shoes, damnit!

So that little pet peeve had been fixed. He now had two sturdy, well-fitting ghostly boots attached to his spectral feet. The rest of his outfit was mostly untouched. His pants and shirt were still the same, including the small tear where the dagger had reached his heart. However, he had managed to manifest a copy of his favourite overcoat. A true copy as well, right down to the scuff marks along the sleeves, the little tears at the bottom left and the frayed seam along the collar.

While it had been wonderful to have his old coat, or something very similar to it, it had also made him wonder. The boots he had manifested looked new. His coat on the other hand was definitely his old one. A curious difference.

Experimenting showed that he could manifest general items of clothing on himself. They mostly appeared as new looking and well-made. If he concentrated, he could add details. If he concentrated on clothing he knew, he could manifest it as correctly as he could remember it. But as soon as he removed something from himself it dissipated and vanished, and the energy he used to create the item rejoined him. His ghostly clothing was apparently made up of pure energy given spectral form.

Realising quickly that he could store a certain amount of excess energy in his ‘clothes’, he decided to keep a little energy backup around this way. Better to be cautious, after all. And if he ever found himself in a serious fight for his life, it would be time to get naked. 

On the other hand, maybe he should preserve some clothes so he could die with dignity?

No. Dead with dignity was still dead, whereas kind of existing but starkers was kind of existing.

Just as the great Tacitus had said:   
“He that fights and runs away,   
May turn and fight another day;   
But he that is in battle slain,   
Will never rise to fight again.”

In his case, he would just have to run away naked.

His discoveries didn’t end there, though. While experimenting with his clothing, he started to wonder how his ghostly form worked. He knew he could pass through walls, but he didn’t know what his limits, if any, were.

Trees, living beings and built structures of any kind were also passable. A quick test proved that he could stick his arm, leg or even whole body inside the mountainside. The last one was deeply unsettling, disorienting and would not be repeated. Then he started to wonder why he could walk on the ground at all. After all, there was no special difference between the earth under his feet and the mountain at his side.

It was in that moment, while he was looking down at the stone shrine floor, that he regretted ever thinking about this. Suddenly his feet sunk into the ground and a kind of slow falling sensation took hold of him. Frantically waving his arms and jumping, he returned to safe ground, if he could call it that.

When he had calmed down enough to conduct some further tests, it quickly became clear that what kept him from sinking into the earth was his believe that he should not.

The ground was only firm because he expected it to be so.

_ Reality had always had cracks, it was now just easier for him to fall into them. _

This revelation was a bit terrifying. He spent a lot of time tossing and turning around his altar the next time he tried to get some ‘sleep’, afraid he would sink down and disappear while he was unconscious. In the end he took to burying his hands within the thick, woollen altar coverings Wordsmith had procured from someone in the village. They felt very real. So long as he still clutched the wool, he wouldn’t forget that he was lying on something. He hoped.

Aside from his experimentations, there wasn’t much to for him to do. Which was of course why he spent so much time experimenting. Watching the kobolds quickly became boring. They weren’t actually that much different from normal people, only smaller, scalier and often squeakier. The novelty wore off within days, leaving Straxus to the greatest of all calamities he had ever suffered: Boredom.

He despised nothing as much as boredom.

_ He feared what it could make him do. _

He needed something to do. A project to work on.

The wooden house in the middle of the village was finished just as his boredom started to reach dangerous levels. A group consisting of very certain kobolds was heading inside minutes after the last board had been nailed shut. Having nothing better to do, Straxus trudged after them, ducking to fit through the doors.

They headed to a relatively large room with a, for them, high ceiling. A vaguely round table and a small number of backless chairs had been cobbled together and placed inside. A canvas made from animal hides was stretched out over one wall and careful lines and small markings had been drawn across it, starting from the middle. A crude, annotated map.

Straxus did not recognise the letters next to the markings. They looked like abbreviations. Shorthand for important landmarks and resources, most likely. He hadn’t seen any writing inside the village so far, so this was especially interesting. He would have a closer look at that later on. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need too much time _ to know these letters he could-  _ He wrenched his eyes away.

There was exactly one window. It looked out towards the central watchtower. It was the most solid construction inside the village and quite tall even to Straxus’ standards. Shuffling could be heard behind him as the kobolds took seats along the table, leaving one space towards the window free. Straxus claimed it for himself, willing the chair to be real to his touch. It still felt oddly soft and ethereal, but it worked.

Swiftstrike, the female kobold chieftain, was sitting opposite him, seemingly looking right through the former student. To her left sat an old kobold Straxus had watched a few times, the smith Nailworth. His scales were dull or cracked and scarred in some places. To her right, Wordsmith fidgeted on his chair. He was wearing what Straxus had come to think of as his ‘formal’ outfit: a dark brown robe with embroidery running along the lower and upper seams.

To Wordsmith’s right, Farseeker had thumped down into his chair and was now scowling at seemingly everybody present, including the map. Next to Nailworth, the small but stout Bunnyhugger had taken place, with Hugsalot settling tentatively into place beside him.

After a long moment of silence, Swiftstrike sighed heavily. “Alright. Let’s begin.” She rubbed her temple and slouched down into her chair. “This is the first official meeting of the Shadowseeker tribe council since Springdale was attacked and ruined. There’s only six of us left currently, so I don’t see the point of being too formal about this.”

Well, that did sound rather grim. Straxus gave the six kobolds sitting glumly at the table a second look. Hugsalot and Wordsmith looked young even to his eyes, while Nailworth looked very old. Farseeker was a bit on the young side as well, leaving only Swiftstrike and Bunnyhugger as somewhat middle-aged. A rather young and small council. If kobold politics were anything like Althun ones, ‘young’ should not be a word used to describe the key players.

“First things first. Nailworth.” Swiftstrike turned to her left. “Give us an overview of where we currently stand regarding our craftsmen.”

The old smith shrugged. “We have a good mix of basic training for most basic crafts we need. Many of the young ones were on their first apprenticeship before the mongrels attacked. But there’s almost no masters of any kind left. We have one good weaver, two builders and of course our three woodworker brothers. No masons, although Pebblerain had stayed on for a second apprenticeship under Chisel back in Springdale, so she’s almost a master and knows enough to muddle through the rest herself.”

While Nailworth paused for a moment, Straxus wondered what those ‘mongrels’ were. Another non-civilised humanoid race living around here, maybe. The derogatory term was said without conscious thought or deeper emotion; a habit instead of a recently picked up swear. These kobolds had to have dealings with these ‘mongrels’ before.

“That’s where the good news end, basically,” Nailsmith continued. “None of the smithing apprentices made it out, most likely because so many were also volunteer guards. I’m currently taking on any young people who wish to first apprentice under me, but there was a reason I retired. If my old age catches up to me before we can get a new smith trained, you’re all going to have serious problems.”

“Also, our tools are not going to last forever. We took along what we had, but there’s no way to pick up an anvil or smithy when you’re running for your lives and without one I can’t make new, good tools or repair our old ones. We need to build one, before late autumn at the latest.”

So Nailworth was the artisan’s representative. These kobolds seemed to have lost… a lot. Straxus had already garnered that something had happened to their old village, something big, but this seemed completely devastating. A society that used first and second apprenticeships, masters of a trade and was able to even offer retirement implied a populace big enough to support such.

“Building a smithy should definitely be one of our first priorities.” Swiftstrike nodded. Then she moved on and nodded to Farseeker. “Let’s have your overview next.”

The hunter’s voice was always hard to listen to, as he usually spoke in a very low, almost whispering tone. Everybody leaned a little bit closer across the table when he started with his report.

“We’re good for food for now. Still have an alright number of chickens left after some of the people went back and rounded up the leftover livestock. Hunting is good in these parts, lots of game further down the west slope and to the eastern parts of the mountain range. Good earth for planting, too, although it’s a bit too late for most things this year by now. If we can get some seeds before next year, we could get a few fields of vegetables growing.”

“But we need to be careful, too. Wolf tracks coming from the north, a ranging pack most likely. Can’t say what their territory is right now, we’re either on the edge of it or they haven’t been back to this part for a while. Some caves north and east further up the mountain that look inhabited, found a few bear tracks, as well. Younglings shouldn’t stray too far from the village, and south down the mountain and west look to be the safest directions.”

So no other settlements around here, apparently, but plenty of potentially dangerous wildlife. It could be worse, Straxus supposed. At least the food situation looked good for his kobolds. And the palisade together with the alarm system should be enough to defend against a few wolves and bears. If the worst came to pass, he could always bunny out and use his energy to… maybe not throw fireballs, most things were made of wood around here.

He could freeze things, though. Throwing an ice spell couldn’t be much different from using ice magic to keep his groceries cold in his apartment. He would only have to add a directional force rune, maybe an amplifier for reaching lower temperatures faster. Focus it on a small, localised area for maximum effect and then aim for joints or heads.

Although, he was bad at aiming, as his archery lessons had shown. Flash-freezing his kobolds’ brains seemed like something to avoid. Maybe he should do the opposite, go for a wider area with a more general freezing effect with less power behind it instead.

Straxus belatedly remembered that an important meeting was going on and tuned back in during the middle of what Bunnyhugger was saying. “... which isn’t that bad actually, since we have that wonderful new alarm system. Which works without problems, so far.” The axe-carrying kobold nodded appreciatively to Wordsmith. “Very good system. Makes me wonder why didn’t have it before - Woodchanter used to say something like that couldn’t be done.”

Wordsmith actually blushed, his shiny red scales darkening a hue. Straxus hadn’t known he could do that. “It- well, it wouldn’t have been possible before. We can talk about that when it’s my turn.” The priest was so shy. He had done some good work on those rune stones.

Bunnyhugger nodded and carried on. “So in short, nothing too terrible, nothing too pressing right now. More warriors would of course be good, but we just don’t have the numbers. I would say we should have Farseeker send some scouts to check the high mountain passes again, see if we can send someone to Great Haven by now, but that’s not a pressing need.”

The others all nodded. Straxus just noted that there did appear to be at least one more settlement, if not of kobolds then at least kobold friendly and that it was across the mountain range somewhere. A settlement which was not accessible right now, apparently. That suited him just fine. If any kobold priest were to show up to investigate him, they would most likely come from there. Being cut off meant no danger for him right now.

Hugsalot was the next one addressed and asked for trade and valuable goods, interestingly. The young but quite tall kobold shrugged, almost helplessly. “We don’t really have a tribe hoard anymore. Some people have a few personal valuables and have offered them, either for the shrine or the start of a new hoard, but with nobody to trade with, there doesn’t seem to be much point at the moment.”

“But once we can send people to Great Haven again, we will need some kind of starting treasure. Since we lost… lost all our traders during the attack…” Hugsalot trembled for a moment and stared down at the table. Bunnyhugger laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, sending him a quick smile. “Since we lost our traders, we will have lost a lot of trading connections as well. I remember most of my mother’s partners and contacts and they will remember me, since I went with her almost always, but we should still expect slightly worse prices at first.”

Straxus was impressed by the general organisation and firm grasp these kobolds had of their resources and situation. Although, calling it a tribe hoard and treasure did remind him of actual dragons. It was almost cute, listening to beings half as tall as him talking about things he usually associated with giant flying menaces.

That didn’t make him miss the implication of commerce between greater settlements and what this meant, though. A lonesome kobold village might have been better for him. Then again, this could potentially help this village develop into something bigger and better.

Shelving that thought, Straxus turned his attention back to the kobolds. Wordsmith was the last one to give his report. “So, we, well, have a new divine patron. I guess everybody knew this already…” The red kobold scratched his arm nervously. “There’s not a lot I can tell you, actually. The Lord, well, I assume it is a Lord, not a Lady, in any case-”

Swiftstrike grabbed the priest’s arms. “Wordsmith, take a deep breath. Good.” She nodded and let Wordsmith breathe for a few seconds before she let him go. “No reason for you to get all worked up. It’s just a general overview.”

“Right.” The priest sighed. “General overview. Well- the Lord is the reason why I was able to finish the magic alarm wards. He, well, taught me new runes and how to make it. He is very knowledgeable about the magical arts and an enthusiastic teacher. Also fairly easy to please so far, so I see no problems there in our future. Even if finding appropriate sacrificial offerings was a bit tricky.”

“I’m happy about any god that doesn’t want live sacrifices.”, Bunnyhugger chimed in. His large smile, together with his orange scales, made him look particular joyful. A look that his two rather large and vicious axes and prominent battle scars contrasted starkly.

Swiftstrike merely rolled her eyes. “I’m for any divine aid that doesn’t require complicated worship. But unknowns offering help freely can be dangerous. Have you found out anything about this god?”

“Well, not much, but - you can’t just ask a god such things!” Wordsmith looked affronted. Even his tail was standing at attention, the tip pointed up towards the ceiling. “Quite a lot of deities have been known to respond rudely to questions about their names and nature. It’s a general thought among the learned that the divines do this to test the merit of their followers by letting them learn things for themselves, or in order to make sure that they are worthy of further knowledge.”

Straxus blinked. Did the gods really do that? He hadn’t cared overly much about any of the churches back when he had been alive. His mother was a deeply devout follower of the Church of Eternal Light, which was in itself enough of a reason not to spend much time on it. He had still memorised a lot of the strictures of the Splendent Lord anyway, but none of those mentioned anything about the divine etiquette of the gods. It did talk a lot about the glory of the light, though.

“Well, this Lord seems to share his knowledge quite freely, or must think you worthy of it.”, Nailworth pointed out. “We wouldn’t have this fine alarm ward otherwise.” The tips of Wordsmiths ears fluttered and his scales darkened again.

“Could it be that the Unfathomable One has decided to be our patron?” Everybody turned to Hugsalot, who just shrugged helplessly. “I mean, the Lord of Mysteries and the Forbidden is kind of known for knowing a lot and being hard to get to know, right?”

Straxus didn’t know anything about the Unfathomable One, apart from the fact that he was one of the Five Below, supposedly very evil and the god of forbidden knowledge. Facts two and three in combination assured that he had no intention of ever meeting this deity or any of its servants and wanted to impersonate it even less.

Although, hadn’t he already told Wordsmith he wasn’t one of the Five Below? Maybe the priest thought that to be some test.

Before he could start planning how not to come across as a nebulous deity of the black arts, Farseeker had already chimed in. “I don’t think so. I’ve met several priests of the Unfathomable One and one thing they and their god supposedly had in common was the fact that knowledge was never free and only reluctantly shared.” The hunter shook his head. “Whoever this is, it’s not them. Plus, the offerings are all wrong. The One likes rare materials and things and has no problems with live sacrifices.”

“All the Great Five and their servants accept those.”, Nailworth commented in a carefully measured tone. The kobolds paused. Uncertain glances were thrown left and right, tails twitching. 

Finally, Wordsmith slumped. “I know. I’ve been going over everything I know of the Great Five, and, well, it’s not one of them, I think, not even in disguise. It’s a different deity. One of magic or at least knowledge, but willing to share what they know. I, I actually think it might be a god of learning. Some of the things they said while teaching me made me think they’ve taught a lot. And, and sometimes they sounded like they like teaching, so long as the student honestly applies themselves.”

Huh. Did he? Straxus had never noticed that about himself. Then again, Honestas had made him teach a lot of tutorial and remedial sessions after the incident. Habits shaped attitude just as well as the other way around. And he had ended up liking his regular tutoring group. Hopefully they were alright back in Fortis Secunda and keeping out of trouble.

“I don’t know of any gods of learning.”, Nailworth muttered. The other kobolds just helplessly looked at Wordsmith.

“Well…” The young priest scratched his head. “There is one god of knowledge among the Terrible Nine, but he’s not really a teaching god.” Indeed, the Splendent Lord’s church wasn’t really known for offering learning. They were more of a gather knowledge and hoard it to ourselves church. In Straxus experience, lording said knowledge over others was not required, but a bonus.

“So maybe it’s a lesser deity that’s not as well known.”, Bunnyhugger offered. “Could be a good thing for us as well as them. Seems like a likeable being in any case.”

Farseeker scoffed. “You just like the fact that they don’t want sacrifices and manifest as a bunny.”

“There is nothing wrong with respecting life.” Bunnyhugger’s retort was accompanied by a dark look towards the hunter. “And it is a fact that divine beings choose their manifestations carefully according to what they are and wish to show to us.” The kobold narrowed his eyes.

Straxus was very happy about the fact that nobody could see him cringe and burrow his head in his hands. Bunnyhugger carried on: “And this one manifests as a bunny. A peaceful creature that lives in close knit families and values companionship, prefers to run and hide rather than fight but will if it has to, is very intelligent and teachable and can sometimes be very mischievous.”

The fighter paused, looking carefully at the other kobolds present. Nailworth and Swiftstrike seemed pensive while Wordsmith had opened his mouth slightly in a mixture of surprise and epiphany. Hugsalot seemed to be excited about something and Farseeker just shrugged, non-impressed.

“What I’m saying is,” the older kobold added, “that one, we could do a whole lot worse, and two, maybe it’s not a bad thing that the Great Five seem to have forsaken us. They sure didn’t help when Springdale was attacked, did they?”

A heavy, tense silence followed his words. The kobolds seemed to be lost in memories and thoughts of the future. Straxus just kept his head in his hands and felt like thumping it against the slightly uneven table.

Just why did he do whatever he did to the bunny? He didn’t want to be a peace and family kind of deity. He had to be a deity that could defend itself against aggressors or scare them off. Something intimidating, like a giant wolf or bear. Nobody would fear taking on a glowing bunny that was known for being good at tutoring people! What kind of intimidation was that!? Go away or I shall lecture you about Brungsten’s Law - not really what an attacking force would pause their advance for, was it?

Maybe he could change his form. For that, he would need to figure out what he had done to become the bunny in the first place.

_ He cleansed the sacrifice, gave it peace. What is left was his now, fairly gained. There were many ways to add to his form.  _ Straxus should not be listening to his knowing. _ The fractures inside the cracks can show you what you could do.  _ Even if it could be helpful. Especially if it could be helpful. _ Become. Doing can be being. Being can be doing. Form is not function. A ruined heart of history sleeps inside the mountain.  _ It was so hard to focus it in one direction.

_ He still burns where you left him. _

The kobolds went back to their daily routine, leaving Straxus sitting completely frozen in the meeting room. The day went on, the villagers going about their daily life and struggles. Unseen, their supposed god sat inside their village centre long after the sun had gone down and its last rays had left.

The moon was up and full by the time Straxus slowly stood up and ambled outside. The village was mostly dark. Only a few fires lit by the night watch flickered here and there. The single watchtower was a dark shape crowned by a single fiery light, like a stranded, stunted lighthouse.

_ They fear losing the rest as well. So much is already lost. It disappears between the cracks. _

Straxus kept wandering through the village. Swiftstrike’s home had light coming out underneath the door and through the small gaps of the wooden walls. He heard slight shuffling and angry steps going around in circles as he passed it.  _ Her heart was not made for the position she found herself in. _ Nailworth’s makeshift smithy and house was dark, but slight clanging told Straxus that the old kobold had not gone to sleep just yet.  _ There is will still left in his old scales. _ Up against the mountain side, light spilled out into the night as Farseeker opened the door to Wordsmith’s chambers.  _ Each cousin worries about the other. _

Straxus shuffled to the path leading up to the shrine and set down on the little ledge. It was a nice, calm night. Only a few clouds passed by every now and then. It seemed very peaceful. Someone inclined to observe the beauty of nature might have even called it beautiful.

He was only reminded of the incident. The night sky had been clear as well, back then. The moon had been a bit less full, but far brighter. In fact, all the moonlit nights since then had been decidedly darker, as far as Straxus was concerned. All the days more tedious.

He didn’t want to think about that night.

_ He had seen the door stand ajar and he had  _ **_known_ ** _. _

He didn’t want to think about Tatum.

_ He had known and then he had looked and then he had punished. _

But somehow, this village reminded him so much of his friend.

_ He didn’t want to know whether he could have prevented it. _


End file.
